


Fool Me Once

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Captive Sam Winchester, Choking, Dark, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Desperate Dean Winchester, Forced Catheterisation, Forced Feeding, Gagged Dean Winchester, Gagged Sam Winchester, Hogtied Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Naked Dean Winchester, Naked Sam Winchester, Strangulation, Tied-Up Sam Winchester, Torture, Vengeful Sam Winchester, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Heaven has given Dean an ultimatum: stop Sam or they will.Dean doesn’t want his brother turned to a scorch mark on the ground, and he wants him back and free of Ruby’s influence.Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Dean does some things he probably shouldn’t....One of them is letting Sam go before he wassurehe was okay again.





	Fool Me Once

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot stress enough that this is a dark story. There is no rescue for Dean, and the torment both brothers visit on each other (one in the name of helping and the other in the name of revenge) is extreme.
> 
> Please if you have any doubts on whether this story will disturb you, don’t read on.

Stop him, they said. Or we will.

Like it was that simple, like there was a magic pill or a switch he could flip and Sam would just _stop_.

Maybe he could check him into the Betty Ford Clinic for a couple of weeks and see what they could do for him.

Probably call the cops or get them both locked up in an asylum.

So this is all Dean has, and it’s hell, he knows it, but what else can he do?

Sam glares at him, straining as far forward as he can, muscles taut as he pulls against the leather cuffs holding his wrists behind the chair. He’s already bloodied, but Dean’s given up trying to stop him.

He hates that he’s had to put that gag in his brother’s mouth as well, the one with a tube he can use for water and liquidised food, but Sam kept trying to bite him and this is going to take days at least, until his little brother cold turkey’s that shit out of his body.

He’s naked, which is creepy as fuck, but at least it meant Dean could fit a catheter while he still had Sam unconscious, and he’s got a pad under him to catch any back door movements.

The room stinks, and more than once he’s had to step outside so he didn’t throw up, but this is going to be worth it.

He’ll get Sam back, out of the grasp of that demon bitch, and Heaven can back the fuck off threatening his brother.

And Sam…. Right now he’s fighting and threatening, and begging, Dean knows what he’s saying even with that thing in his mouth, and crying when Dean comes over to give him water and food, and when Dean has to empty his bag or change the pad under his ass, but once he’s himself again, Dean knows Sam will forgive him.

They always help each other, pull each other back from the edge, and this is just more of the same.

++

It’s the second day of the third week when Sam passes out. It’s not the first time that’s happened, but this time it’s different. His body is covered in a sheen of sweat, and it’s almost...natural, as if he’s asleep, and when Dean touches him he’s cooler and he’s not shaking with withdrawal.

It’s over. It’s _over_.

He starts work on the restraints, stopping to pet Sam’s head when he moans. Yeah, he’ll be sore, Dean bets, muscles raw from fighting, but a hot bath, some painkillers and some sleep.

He’ll be…

Sam breaks over him like a storm, slamming two knuckles up under Dean’s chin, the pain sharp and sudden, making him bite his own tongue.

He manages half a block as he staggers back, and that’s why it’s his arm that breaks and not his jaw, but the fight’s over then even if he won’t, can’t, admit it.

Sam gets behind him, yanks him into a chokehold, and Dean bats uselessly at the arm cutting off his air, tries to reach up and get Sam’s face, but Sam just twists anything hurtable out of reach, and then it’s done.

++

It takes Dean a while to come fully around.

His head is fuzzy, not surprising; it’s not the first time somebody’s choked him out, but it’s the first time Sam’s done it, and maybe that’s why coming to takes just a little bit longer.

He’s in shock.

And in deep, deep shit.

Sam has him hogtied. The leather restraints Dean used on him are now binding his ankles together, and Dean’s wrists are bound the same way, but hooked onto the other set of cuffs.

The position is unforgiving, and that’s when Dean’s body reminds him his left arm is broken and that pain brings him all the way to the surface.

He tries to scream, but it comes out muffled, and he quickly realises why as he pants against the agony.

The gag he’d used on Sam is now strapped into his mouth, the tube dangling down.

He yells his brother’s name, hears it come out like his mouth’s full of sock, and then Sam leans into view.

He looks manic, eyes red rimmed and blood shot.

“Not so cool, huh,” he says. “Hurts, right? Getting overpowered and stripped and trussed up by somebody you should be able to trust.”

Naked. He is. Fuck.

He sees Sam pottering about, just on the edge of his vision, and he tries again, pleading, desperate to explain.

But it’s pretty clear he unbuckled Sam too soon; he’s still tainted, still full of that bitch’s rot, and now Dean’s paying for being so desperate to believe his little brother was fixed.

Sam turns around, and he’s holding the catheter tubing, and Dean shakes his head before he realises it’s not attached to a bag, or anything.

But the way Sam’s holding it suggests intent, and Dean doesn’t want to find out what Sam’s plans are.

He groans when Sam gets on the bed behind him, and Dean feels him dragging a finger over his ass. Clenches down on instinct and feels something squelch inside him.

No.

Sam’s chuckles, must read where he’s going. “Uh uh, not been in there, Dean. Not yet anyway. That’s just some Vaseline. All that was in the medicine cabinet, don’t even know how long it’s been there for. Who even left it there. What they used it for before they did.”

Dean screams, loud, ragged, but he knows there’s no point. This old cabin, a hunter half way house, there’s maybe only two or three people who know it’s still here, other than them, and the chances of anybody just happening by for a visit are piss poor.

And it’s so far from anywhere, Dean could let off an air raid siren and nobody would turn up to see what the racket was about.

He thinks about praying...to Castiel...to Uriel...even starts before he cuts it off. Because Castiel had explained it to him neatly; heaven is fighting a war and they don’t have time to come rescue Winchesters. The battle with the Witnesses proved that and this, this is different, god help him, but it’s also different in that if they turn up and see Sam like this…

They’ll kill him on the spot.

If they turn up at all, and when he doesn’t hear the sound of wing beats he figures what little of his heavenly bound 911 got through has either been ignored or parked.

No help is coming for him.

He whines as Sam presses into him, makes muffled pleas, curses, but it doesn’t stop him and it’s like Dean’s being split in two.

He can barely breathe by the time Sam’s seated in him, the pain nearly as bad as his arm because however much jelly Sam used it wasn’t enough, and then Sam starts to move, rocking him, and Dean screams and screams because he can feel the bone crunching in his arm, and it’s like somebody’s shoved a damn cactus in him, tearing him up, and he’s going to puke, but if he does that with the gag in…

He does anyway, and starts to choke, and Sam reaches forward and unbuckles it and lets it drop away.

Dean vomits over the bed, and Sam doesn’t even change his pace, keeps fucking into him while Dean’s hanging there, only the restraints stopping him from dropping face first into his own puke.

“Please,” he manages, and it hurts to talk, like somebody’s shoved a cocktail of glass and gravel down his throat. “Sam, Sammy, please.”

“Awww.” Sam strokes his fingers through Dean’s hair, so gentle, that for a moment Dean has a sliver of hope. “Listen to you, thinking calling me ‘Sammy’ is going to get me to stop.”

He grips Dean’s hair hard, yanks his head back, makes Dean scream again as pain explodes in his arm. 

“Three weeks you’ve kept me here, Dean. I checked and it’s been three whole fucking weeks, making me piss in a bag, shit myself and swallow whatever the fuck you put in that tube. And you think trying to play the emotional big brother card is going to save you from this?

“Think again.”

He lets Dean go, then, but a moment later Dean realises what Sam wanted the tubing for.

It whips around his neck, Sam looping it twice, and then he tugs on the ends and holds it there as Dean’s mouth gapes, trying to find air when it can barely whistle through his tubes.

Sam laughs as he comes, and leans forward enough to look at his big brother, watching Dean straining for breath, eyes bulging.

He lets go just as Dean thinks that’s it, he’s going to strangle to death, and Dean’s head slumps forward, the angle punishing as he tries to remember how to breathe, ends up sucking in air with a harsh yelping sound.

Sam gets off the bed, and comes around to crouch beside him.

“Oh, Dean. It’s going to be a long three weeks. Brother.”


End file.
